


The Steps That Lead To You

by DreamofInception



Category: The 100 (TV), The 100 Series - Kass Morgan
Genre: Drabble, F/M, One Shot, prompts, suggestions are welcome
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-26
Updated: 2017-03-12
Packaged: 2018-04-06 05:34:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 10,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4209870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DreamofInception/pseuds/DreamofInception
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of one shots between Bellamy Blake and Clarke Griffin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. "We Agreed. Just Sex."

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! Just a small multi one shot fic for you guys to enjoy!

Clarke Griffin isn't a jealous person.

She has a good life, with good friends and a good job, has the occasional romance of satisfying her sexual frustration. She spends her days reading in the sunlight with her cat, Elsa, wrapped around her waist and purring into her shirt.

She's happy. So fucking happy that there's no reason to be jealous at all.

_No. Fucking. Reason._

"Clarke?" Octavia leans over the table and touches her arm. "Your hands are turning red."

Clarke blinks, turning her head from the two people at the other side of the bar. She glances at her hands, clenched in fists, her fingers digging into the skin of her palms.

Raven chuckles. "You constipated or something, Griffin?"

Clarke stretches her fingers, laying them on the table. They're still red, and her stomach is still in knots, her body remaining in the emotion of jealousy and annoyance and -

She grabs her bottle of beer and chugs it.

Octavia gasps. "Clarke!"

"Griffin!" Raven nods in amusement.

Clarke wipes the substance from her mouth and swallows thickly. She looks across the bar again, her skin burning when she see's Bellamy, his muscles expanding as leans over the counter, smiling into Roma's hair.

 _Fuck_.

"You know what," she steps down from her stool, her ears ringing, "I think I'm going to head home."

Octavia shakes her head. "Bellamy's your ride."

"No." She wants to throw up. She hates that name. "He's busy trying to get laid."

She grabs her jacket from the table, and, holy shit, her hands are fucking red again. Octavia begs for her to stay, Raven rolling her eyes and calling her a pussy, twirling her hair as she takes another sip of her beer.

"I'm just tired. I'll see you guys later." She takes the beer from Raven and finishes it. "I'm totally fine."

Her friends stare at her in confusion, and Clarke only waves, her heels clicking against the wood as she walks towards the doors. She passes the bar, breathing heavily when she hears Bellamy grunt a compliment, and Roma's laughter in response.

She clenches her hands. So not jealous.

* * *

 

It begins to rain when she's walking home.

Clarke curses, clenching onto her coat and wrapping the material around her. She shivers at the increasing strength of the wind, her heels and legs burning in exhaustion.

She wonders how good Bellamy must be feeling in Roma's bed, and she shakes her head, because she doesn't _care_.

Clarke steps onto her porch, the rain rough on her arms as she unlocks her front door. She stumbles into her house, the darkness of the room embracing her mood and soothing her.

She shrugs off her coat, her damp clothes lingering on her skin. Her hair is wet, her body surfaced with water, and she shivers, kicking off her heels.

She _hates_ wearing heels.

A clap of thunder echoes above her, and then a knock on her front door, as sharp as the lightning. Clarke sighs, rubbing her arms as she steps into the hallway, pulling on the door handle.

Bellamy stands in front of her, his curls falling from the rain.

Clarke chews on her bottom lip, her throat tightening. She wraps a strand of damp hair around her ear, waving her wet shirt against her body. She's tipsy, and hot, the redness returning to her.

She sighs heavily. "Bellamy, I'm not in the mood to - "

"Why'd you leave without me?"

She looks at him, her best friend's brother, _her_ best friend. His muscles pulse under his damp clothes, and he crosses over the threshold, entering her house and closing the door behind him.

The darkness feels much more suffocating.

"I was tired," she tells him.

He steps towards her. "Are you tired now?"

"Besides," she touches his chest, preventing him from getting closer. "You were occupied."

He raises his eyebrows. "Occupied? With what? _Roma_?"

Clarke looks away from him.

Bellamy huffs, shaking his head. He looks so young in the dimness of her home, and her fingers soften against the material of his shirt, wrapping around his collar before she rests her arms at her side.

"She's a friend," he reassures her, and she almost laughs, because they're friends. "I wasn't going to - "

Clarke exhales. "It doesn't matter. You could have. If you wanted to."

"I didn't want to."

She looks up at him, his eyes burning into hers. She's never been able to adapt to him, to his eyes, his body. Even when they were younger, when he would pick her and Octavia up from high school parties, and he would scan her body before giving them hell for sneaking out.

Clarke touches his belt, and his muscles tense.

"I thought you were tired," he teases.

She presses a kiss against his jaw, guiding his hands to her waist. "Do I _feel_ tired?"

Bellamy grins. He caresses the dampness of her shirt, pushing her against the wall. His hands roam her body, touching her, remembering her, tracing her in ways that have been perfected in his patterns.

He pulls the collar of her shirt down, trailing his lips along her shoulder.

_Suck it, Roma._

"Wait." He removes his mouth from her skin, and she whimpers in disapproval. "Were you _jealous_?"

Clarke blinks. " _What_?"

Bellamy smirks, tapping his finger against her nose. "You were jealous."

She feels the reddening shade return to her cheeks, to her hands and her memory. She thinks of Roma, trapped between him and the wall, her hands in his hair and her moans in his kisses.

She leans her head against the wall, refusing to expose her flushed cheeks.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Of Roma." His teeth graze the straps of her bra, peeling them from her shoulders. "You left because you didn't like seeing me and Roma."

She laughs, a breathy moan. "Get over yourself, Blake."

She feels his smile against her skin, his lips trailing to her neck, her jaw, kissing the side of her chin. He grazes the buttons of her jeans, his fingers sliding under her zipper as he leans his forehead against hers.

"You like me."

He enters a finger inside her, and she gasps.

Clarke grips his shoulders, pulling her against him as he finds his rhythm. He inserts another finger, pumping them inside her, stretching her in pleasure. He continues to kiss her skin, tugging down her shirt to remove her bra and suck on her breasts.

"Obviously." Her breath hitches, and she rolls her hips against his. "We've known each other since we were kids."

Bellamy shakes his head. "You _like_ me, like me."

"I _don't_."

There's a moment of displeasure, of disruption, and Clarke huffs in annoyance when he removes his fingers, detaches his lips from her. He pulls away, though she can still feel his growing product of need against her.

He stares at her. "Prove it."

Clarke grunts, grabbing his collar and pressing him against her. " _No_." She peels his belt from his waist, unbuttoning his pants. "We agreed. Just sex."

He groans when she frees his erection. "Yeah. Seven months ago."

She rolls her eyes, caressing him harshly as he buries his face into her neck. He palms her ass, unzipping her jeans and pulling them down, ghosting his fingers along the insides of her thigh.

"Whatever." She closes her eyes as he rolls her thong off. "So I didn't want you having sex with Roma. Sue me."

He smiles against her lips. "Is that a fantasy?"

She laughs, shaking her head. "Asshole," she whispers. Her fingers clench onto the curls of his hair, and she thinks of the redness, thinks of the jealousy. "You didn't like it when I dated Finn," she murmurs. "Admit it. You were jealous."

Bellamy smirks. "Cute."

Clarke cups his cheeks, guiding his face towards hers. His eyes are laced with lust, and she remembers the first time they gave in to each other, his hands inside her in the washroom of Octavia's 21st birthday party.

She swore to him it would never happen again, but it did, it keeps on happening.

Clarke curls a finger under his chin, curious. "You like me, Blake," she mumbles.

"I don't like you," he tells her.

"Well, I don't like _you_."

He stares at her, his hands on her waist and her legs wrapped with his. There's a desperation in his gaze, a hunger, and the moment overwhelms him as he grabs her face in his hands and kisses her.

He kisses her. They rarely kiss, but he kisses her.

Clarke groans, her lips connecting with his in an eruption of passion and impatience. She pulls him close, whispering his name, her arms encircling his neck and her chest pressing against his.

Bellamy leans forward, his hands gripping her thighs and wrapping them around his waist. He pushes her against the wall, and she knots her feet together on the small of his back, his growing need close to her entrance.

He trails a hand between them and pushes into her.

 _Fuck_.

He fucks her, kisses her, and holy shit she's seeing stars.

"God," she moans.

She feels him smile against her lips, and he whispers in her ear, whispers those dirty thoughts and those dirty actions. She demands for him to go faster, and he does, her hips meeting his in quick and tense thrusts.

She doesn't know how loud she screamed, her ears were fucking ringing.

And after, when he carried her to the bed and continued to pleasure her, he rolled her into his side, kissing the crown of her forehead. They're sweaty, damp with sex and rain, but God she feels perfect.

"Hey, Clarke?"

She looks up at him. "Yeah?"

He kisses her again, his lips lingering on hers in the darkness of her room. It's sweet, loving, and oh God it stirs another pleasure inside her, but she doesn't know from where.

Bellamy leans his forehead against hers. "I love you."

She smiles. Octavia and Raven always suspected, even without the knowledge of knowing they've been sleeping together, and she's always refused, always declined their assumptions.

She kisses his cheek. "I fucking told you!"

(She loves him, too. Of course).


	2. "You shouldn't have came. It's not worth the risk."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a reminder that this oneshot series will not always be canon, or in chronological order. Enjoy! :)

He realizes that the love he has for her is the dangerous kind.

The kind that allows him to be violent when her life is dangling in front of him, the kind that forces him to be selfish when she's captured by Grounders with other survivors, the kind that extends his brutality if anyone touches her.

And, irresponsibly yet completely understandable, the kind that motivates him to keep her safe amongst anyone else.

Based on the casualties he could have saved, Bellamy identifies this as the reason why the feelings he has for Clarke Griffin is utterly and inefficiently dangerous.

God damn it.

" _Jacob_ , Bellamy. You should have rescued Jacob, he's the one with the best aim. What the fuck is wrong with you?"

Bellamy sighs. It's been several hours since he raided the Grounder prison in the east woods, his hands occupied with spears and his mind racing with desperation. There were four delinquents he brought with him after hearing of the princess being captured, and, undoubtedly, one of them being Jacob. And, undoubtedly, his priority was to save Clarke. Not Jacob.

Sorry Jacob.

"You weren't even paying attention to him," Clarke hisses, the wet cloth beginning to press a little harder against the side of his neck. His eyes don't stray from her fierce glare as he watches her from his position on the mattress. She's standing between his legs, her free hand on his shoulder, and he tries not to be obvious about his gazing.

But her eyes. Damn her eyes make it nearly impossible.

"Are you even fucking listening?"

Bellamy tilts his head further upwards to study her. Her skin is still plastered with dried blood and her hair is still frizzing from the nap she just woke from. The nap where she thrashed in his bed, screaming of murder, and he had to hush her back to a quiet slumber. Only for her to rewake and release her inner rage on him.

As long as she's breathing, he really doesn't fucking care.

"There wasn't anything I could have done," he tells her. It doesn't smooth the creasing in her forehead. "Jacob knew of the possibilities going in. He choice to come. To save _you_. He made his choice the minute he left camp with me."

Clarke scoffs. "You shouldn't have came. It's not worth the risk."

Okay, now he's getting pissed.

He grabs both of her hands that rest on his neck, pulling them back and taking them in his own grasp. He drops the bloodied cloth she's been healing him with on the floor, weaving his fingers through his. Her skin is cold and wet with the red reminder of loss.

Clarke breathes deeply, her eyes afire. He squeezes her hands and pulls her closer towards him. "You can't say that, Clarke," he murmurs. "You need to understand that it is worth the risk. It always fucking will be. Always has been."

And that's why its dangerous. And if his desperate need to protect her at all costs is what condemns him to hell, then he'll willingly go. As long as she's alive, he'll go anywhere, do anything, for her.

Clarke seems to understand that, and she rips her hands from his grasp and uses them to shove against his chest. He shifts on the mattress so he doesn't fall backwards, rising from the bed and standing in front of her. "Shut up, Bellamy," she grumbles, "just shut up, shut up, shut up."

His eyes bore into hers. "No."

He can hear her breathing falter, can sense the frustration radiate off her skin as she springs forward to shove him again. Her voice is weak and low, and he can notice the tears shedding her eyes. "You _idiot_. Don't you get it? Jacob died, he - " she stops short, pausing to wipe her fingers hastily at the wetness under eyes, "You could have died. That could have been you."

Her gaze is broken and her hands are clenched into fists. It reminds him of a familiar feeling, and he understands, he understands that she would do for him what he would do for her. And they're both too stubborn to allow each other to do it.

Bellamy shakes his head, but she speaks before he gets the chance to. "You can't just keep looking for me every time I'm in danger. I'm always in danger. Both of us are always in danger. But God, Bellamy, if something were to happen to you - I would . . . I would never forgive you. Or me. So that can't happen."

He can hear the meaning behind her words, _I can't loose you_ , and _Don't die on me_. They all sound too familiar, too understandable. Her tone is shaking and Bellamy stands where he is, completely silent and unwavering.

Clarke swallows thickly. She isn't done. "So don't try to make me feel okay with you risking your life for me, because if it were the other way around, you wouldn't want me to go and you know it - "

The next moment is a blur of hands tangling in hair and continuous whispers of need. His mouth is desperate on hers, their bodies exploding with heat as she kisses him back with the same passion she uses with every kiss they share. He remembers the line of her lips by now, always soft when they're lazy, always vicious when they need each other. Her lips bring him home.

Her curves are familiar as he traces his fingers down her body, pausing to cups his hands around her thighs and pulling her up. She wraps her legs around her waist and bites down softly on his tongue, rolling her core against his.

Bloody hell. This girl really will be the death of him.

Bellamy carries her to the bed, laying her below him, growing with want. He hovers above her as they strip each other of their clothes, as they struggle to touch every exposed spot of skin. Her hands are smooth as they grab his arms, nails digging along his skin as he pushes into her.

And with his head buried in her neck, and her once broken voice now screaming his name, he accepts the fact that loving her could really cause the end of the world. It could bring upon fire and ice, and death and destruction. Loving her could cause wars and battles, with both sides losing.

It could cause both their existence, but fuck the world for trying.

Because she's alive, and kissing his neck, and he's never felt anything close to this with anybody else. This feeling of need. And hell, it is dangerous, he knows that. But so does she. Love is absolutely dangerous.

And they're both ridiculously and stupidly guilty of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so, I need your help. My writers block is completely solid with the new chapter of Nowhere Found. And, honestly, I need a little bit of a reminder of why I should continue it. So. Please. Help me out. My head is stuck :(


	3. "So don't fucking die yet."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternate scenario to season 2 finale.

Bellamy Blake just had to get friggin' shot.

And not one of those minor injuries Clarke has always been able to recover on the field, or one of those opening of flesh she knows how to cover. This was a deep, life-threatening, possibly no-more-Bellamy-Blake wound. The one that squeezed Clarke's heart and made her breath falter.

 _Fuck_.

"We have to get you out of here," she whispers, her hands steady on the entrance of the bullet hole, just above his left hip. The chaos of war surrounds them as he hisses in pain, his hands gripping her elbows. "Octavia's going to find a distraction. And we'll get you out. Don't worry, we'll get you out."

She thinks she's trying to reassure herself more than him.

The sound of screaming and gunshots continues to escalate, each pop a physical ache to her heart. She shuffles closer into the corner they're shielding behind, brushing her body with Bellamy's. She closes her eyes briefly. They'll win, they'll win and they'll save Bellamy. They'll save everyone. She _has_ to.

"Clarke," Bellamy breathes. His skin is pale and cool, and the baseball cap he's been hiding behind is resting on the floor beside them, revealing those familiar brown curls of hair. She reaches out and touches them. So soft, yet painted with blood. "Get out of here. Now."

"No."

Another round involving shouts of pain echoes through the corridor, and his fingers clutch at her arm. "Clarke. Get the fuck out. I mean it. Get Octavia and leave." His tone is panicked now. Vulnerable. As if he knows what the outcome of this night is, as if he knows he's going to -

No. No, he's going to survive.

This can't be how it ends, there's no point of surviving if he's not there with her.

"Shut up," she hisses. Blood pours from the ripped part of his shirt she wrapped around his wound, and it makes her sick to think that Bellamy Blake, the man made of iron, bleeds red like everyone else. "Octavia should be back anytime now. So _shut up_."

"Clarke - "

She shakes her head. Her hand comes up to press her fingers against his cheek, blood staining his skin. His eyes soften at the contact, and she doesn't know whether it's because her embrace is comforting or because he's giving in to the feeling of death. Either way, it agonizes her.

"Listen to me," she murmurs. Her hand grips his face a little tighter to keep him awake but his eyes continue to droop. "You are not dying here. You hear me? You are not dying in this stupid fucking mountain. Octavia's coming back, and we're getting you out. So don't fucking _die_ yet."

Her heart is pounding, and his breath is slowing, and _God_ she can't lose him, she _can't_ lose him now -

So she kisses him.

Clarke leans forward, eyes falling closed, and kisses him. A soft, sweet kiss that sparks a sensation inside her, an overwhelming amount of need that stabilizes her breathing. Her fingers press softer into his skin, and she sighs in relief when she feels him kissing her back. His mouth parting her lips and his breath on her skin. Whoa.

She pulls back, hearing the nearing footsteps and shouts of Octavia returning to them. Her eyes slowly lift to meet his. His gaze is burning and alive. "About damn time," he whispers. His words make her nod, make her smile through the tears, and she leans forward to press her lips quickly against his forehead.

If she loses him, it was never worth the risk.

Octavia kneels beside them, tells them the army is overpowering the Mountain Men and Lincoln found an opening for them to escape back to Camp Jaha. She tells them it's a long and dangerous walk, but Clarke doesn't hear that, all she hears is the fact that they have a chance. Bellamy has a chance.

So they leave, half dragging and half carrying him as they stumble across the ground. Clarke tries to drown the sound of continuous screaming and pain as she leaves her people behind, but then she hears chants, and shouts of victory, and she knows they've won.

Of course they did. Bellamy fucking saved them all.

And now they have to save Bellamy.

He's unconscious by the time they reach Camp Jaha, and her mother hurries him into the med bay. The minutes of his surgery turn into hours, and the hours of his coma turn into days, until finally, one day, he wakes up.

And Clarke is there. Holding his hand and peppering her lips against his face. She's there when he cries for the people they lost (the loss of Monty and Harper still burns), and she's there when he smiles when he reunite with the people they saved.

And God. She can't help but feel that he saved her. So many damn times.

So months later, when they're huddled in his tent in the night, his arms wrapped around her waist, she finally says the words she's been terrified of speaking of since Finn. The words she's been taught to hate and never feel.

"I love you."

His grin is soft and welcoming, because he's always known. "About time," he whispers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so, I need your help. My writers block is completely solid with the new chapter of Nowhere Found. And, honestly, I need a little bit of a reminder of why I should continue it. So. Please. Help me out. My head is stuck :(


	4. "Is that why you're spending more time in here than with your date?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on the prompt - "I want a jealous Bellamy one shot. Preferably one where Clarke and Miller date causing Bellamy to pine for Clarke. Eventual Bellarke of course."
> 
> You shall ask, and you shall receive! Enjoy! xo.

Clarke brings a boy to the bar.

And it really _pisses him off._

Like, teeth-grinding-nails-scratching-on-the-counter pisses him off. A head-in-the-bucket-screaming-internally pisses him off. Those range of expressions he never understood, never even felt, and it fucking _sucks_.

Feelings fucking suck.

"Bellamy!" There's a banging on the bathroom door and Clarke's voice rings throughout the bar. "Open the God damn door!"

Bellamy sighs, bowing his head on the wall. He was doing so well, was almost polite when Clarke introduced Miller to them, her grin wide and kind. He expected this, heard Octavia and Raven talk about a "new man in Clarke's life", and never thought anything of it.

He never thought anything of it because it's _Clarke_ , his sister's best friend, and she's not supposed to make him feel like this.

He's known her since they were in high school, and she's supposed to annoy him, drive him crazy, make him go insane. She's supposed to get riled up when he debates her on things he doesn't care about, but knows she does, smirking when she screams at him.

He wants that; those stupid, unnecessary fights. He wants those emotions, the ones that make him feel like he's on fire, not the ones he's having now. Not the feeling he got when she walked into the bar with Miller, when she told them story on how they met, all happy and bright-eyed.

Miller flushed, told her she's adorable, and Bellamy tried really hard not to punch him in the damn face.

"Holy shit, Blake." Clarke's fists pound on the door again. "Stop being a coward and open the door!"

Bellamy rolls his eyes and steps forward, turning the knob.

Clarke bursts through the entrance and closes the door behind them, the fire beginning to grow again.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

Her eyes are shinning with blue steel, fierce and bold, the quality he's familiar with. She leans her back against the door and crosses her arms over her breasts, her pale skin brightening the dimness.

Bellamy raises his eyebrows. "You're the one breaking into bathrooms."

"Fuck you, Blake." She points an accusing finger at him. "You're being a dick."

"I'm being a friend," he presses.

"Who's acting like a _dick_."

Bellamy shakes his head. He thinks of Miller, his expression when Bellamy criticized him, telling him he's insane for thinking Halo is better than COD. Miller physically deflated, and Clarke looked at him with murder, so Bellamy left for the washroom to wait out her rage.

But she's here, the rage inside her, and, yeah, her fire is intoxicating.

"I'm just trying to help you find the right guy, kiddo," he tells her, riling her. "You tend to have a long list of bad taste."

"Are you kidding me?"

"Nope." He folds his arms over his chest. "The list starts with Finn Collins, and continues with even more dip shits."

Clarke scoffs. "You're an asshole," she growls, leaning forward and narrowing her eyes. "He's _nice_."

"Nice?" he questions in amusement.

"Yeah." She lifts her chin in pride. "And funny."

Bellamy smirks. Because Miller isn't funny, Miller is a guy you say is funny because there's nothing else to say about him. He's blank, colourless, creates an attraction based on the richness of his clothing.

Bellamy shrugs his shoulders. "Hasn't made me laugh yet."

Clarke tightens her lips. "Yeah," she hisses. "Because you're being a _dick_."

"Still can't see the humour in him."

She widens her eyes, exasperated, and huffs in irritation. The fire continues inside her, sparks igniting the room as she pushes at his chest, shoving him against the sink counter.

"I hate you," she says.

Bellamy raises his eyebrows as she presses into him, the compact of the room causing their friction. Her face is close, the features on her expression mean, and he breathes her in.

"Yeah?" he teases.

Clarke stares at him. "Yeah. A lot."

"Mhm."

"I _do_ ," she insists.

He exhales, shaking his head. This is usually the part where Octavia yells at them and tells them to get over themselves, or suck it up about whatever argument they were having. But she isn't here, and Clarke's too close for him to be making any decisions.

He remembers Miller, remembers those damn feelings, and it pisses him off again.

"Is that why you're spending more time in here than with your date?" he questions.

Clarke gaps. "I'm here because you're being an idiot," she tells him. "Because I hate you."

Irritation builds inside him. "You said that already."

"I mean it."

He stares at her, the ice in her eyes glowing into flames. He's never felt this before, this burning pain he doesn't want to stop, the intensity that he doesn't want to end. He thinks of their night in his bedroom, all sharp nails and hot kisses, the amusement of keeping it a secret from everyone else.

But then they realized that sex does cause emotions, and they crashed and burned into ashes.

He forgot about her, or at least tried, since she was still over every damn day and he could always feel his pulse thickening. She was supposed to be another one of the girls he fucks and than gets over, not the girl he _can't_ seem to fucking get over.

Feelings fucking suck.

Bellamy licks his lips and pushes himself from the counter. "Can I tell you what I think?"

"No," she replies.

He smirks, stepping towards her as she leans against the door. "I think you're in here," he says, "because you know I'm right."

"Bullshit."

Her response is a breath, a sharp inhale as he stands in front of her. He looks down at the places on her skin that she likes, that turns her on, and he grins, because he gets the feeling that she's just feverish as he is.

"He's a nice, not funny guy, and he bores you," he tells her.

Clarke swallows thickly. "He excites me."

"He's slow, fragile. Makes you crazy."

"He's gentle." Her eyes trail the curve of his neck. "And it's beautiful."

Bellamy shakes his head. "It drives you insane."

"You drive me insane."

And he does. Whether it's because he didn't understand her tutoring in high school, or because she hated witnessing his one night stands in college. Or because they deny what they want, try to convenience themselves it's a bad idea, even though it feels like a good idea every damn time.

They drive each other insane, that's the thing. That's the fire.

Bellamy thinks of Miller, the nice-not-funny-guy in the bar, and wonders if he's figured it out yet.

"If your boyfriend is so great," he remarks, "then maybe you should be with him."

Clarke lifts her chin as she straightens herself. "Yeah. I should."

"Okay. Then leave," he suggests.

She narrows her eyes. "No. You leave."

"Then get out of my way."

She looks at him, the heat in her gaze a familiar element. She opens her mouth, closes it, stares at him with wide eyes and a heaving chest. He knows this stance, knows what she's trying to withhold, and he steps closer towards her.

Clarke squirms against the door and opens her eyes, ice and fire.

"Fucking hell, Blake."

And then she grips the collar of his shirt, pulling him to her in a frenzy of desire.

Bellamy exhales, her lips moving harshly onto his as he presses her against the door. He feels the warmth overwhelm his body, feels it in his hands as he places them on her hips, running his fingers along her exposed skin.

She gasps at the contrast, and, _fuck_ , he's missed that sound.

He slides his palms towards the span of her back, tightening the distance between them. She breathes, nibbling at his bottom lip as she struggles to reach for the doorknob, turning the lock.

"You planning on staying in here a while?" he teases.

She kisses his smirk. "Shut up."

Her hands return to cup his face, securing his mouth, and he presses her further against the door. He rolls his hips into hers, and Clarke releases a moan, her lips unmoving as he trails his hand towards the hem of her skirt.

Bellamy licks his lips, stretching her panties and entering two fingers inside her.

Clarke pants, gripping his shoulders. " _Bell_ ," she hisses.

He hushes her, connecting their mouths to keep her from increasing her volume. She's always been loud, and that always made it more exciting, but they're in a public washroom with her date outside and he doesn't feel like being shamed on tonight.

He pushes his fingers deeper inside her, and she writhes against him.

" _Fuck_." He smirks, and she shakes her head. "You're such a prick."

Clarke huffs, tilting her her along the door. He leans into her and trails kisses along her neck, biting and licking her skin. She bites on her bottom lip, craving, and reaches for the buttons of his shirt.

She removes the material from his chest and digs her nails into his core.

Bellamy grunts. "Slow and gentle, huh?" He stretches her wider, further. "You sure you like that?"

Clarke squirms from his contact. "Just take off your fucking pants."

She kisses him, removing his fingers from her and pushing him against the counter. He stumbles, and she peels her skirt off as she steps towards him. Her fingers undo his belt, and she rips it from his pants, pushing them down his thighs.

"No slow and gentle." She frees his member from his boxers. "Don't you dare."

Bellamy exhales sharply. He grasps her hips and pulls her into him, wrapping his hands around her legs. He lifts her into his embrace, and turns them, settling her onto the counter.

She gasps when her skin touches the cold surface, and she reaches for him, takes him in her hands.

Clarke presses her lips to his ear. "I want you to fuck me, Bellamy Blake." His pulse thickens, and he wipes a thumb against her folds. "You know how."

And he does, spent months figuring out her body, what she wants, what she likes. He pulls her to where he stands in front of her, her thighs gliding against the counter, sweat building between them. She steadies herself as she guides him into her.

She gasps when he stretches inside her, whimpering his name.

"Shit," he whispers, because it's been so long, _too_ long.

Clarke nods, a silent agreement, and adjusts to him. She closes her eyes, dropping her hands onto him and squeezing his ass, pushing him further inside. He smirks, because she's impatient, and that means she's wants him more than she admits. More than Miller.

"No teasing." She moves against him, desperate. "I need - "

Bellamy thrusts into her, hard, rough, and she curses.

This is what she wants, and he knows that, remembers the times when she pushed him against his apartment door, or when he fucked her against his fridge. He remembers her spark, that same fire, all fury and heat.

But then she begins to meet his thrusts with the roll of her hips, and she feels so fucking good, so there's no time to be anywhere but in this moment.

"Shit," he groans.

She presses her lips into his neck, the vibration of her moans rattling his skin. She clutches his hair, pulls on it, scratches him, and everything seems to clench tightly in his body, waiting for the release.

He continues to jerk inside her, those deep, harsh thrusts, and she bites down on her shoulder, muffling her screams.

"Oh, God." And then louder, higher. " _Fuck_."

She falls apart around him, her legs wrapping around his waist. She digs her heels into his back, her body tightening before it loosens, and she whispers his name, curses it, and the thickness of her voice pushes him over the edge.

He breaks with the feel of Clarke Griffin, coming inside her.

" _Clarke_ ," he grunts.

Bellamy slouches against her. His chest heaves, releasing a long breath as he attempts to recover. The world looks and feels blonde and blue-eyed, and he throbs with the thought of feeling it again.

Clarke sighs, unwrapping her legs and pushing him from her.

She lifts herself from the counter, reaching for the toilet paper to remove the fluids from her body. She curses at the thickness of the substance, looking up at him as she throws it in the waste basket.

"You can't tell anyone about this," she says.

Bellamy raises his eyebrows. He expected this, the whole denial and the vows to end whatever is between them. He watches as she picks up her panties and skirt, dragging them around her hips.

Bellamy pulls up his pants. "My lips are sealed."

"I'm serious." She throws him his shirt. "This was the last time."

"Agreed."

Clarke looks at him, the lust in her eyes replaced with confusion. She curls her hair around her ear and turns to him, crossing her arms across her chest. He glances at her breasts, plump along her forearms.

"I mean it," she tells him.

Bellamy nods. "So do I."

Her eyes narrow, the ice overpowering her fire. She breathes heavily, roaming her hands over her body and adjusting the mishaps that appear. Her hair is still wild, and her eyes look like sex, but he doesn't tell her that.

"Now, if you'll excuse me." She rubs her palms together. "I have to get back to my date."

Bellamy almost laughs. He wonders what excuse she'll tell Miller, wonders what her expression will be when he actually believes her.

He knows guys like Miller. He'll take any chance he gets.

Clarke turns from him, her blonde waves chaotic around her shoulders as she walks towards the door. He knows he shouldn't, but he steps forward anyway, wrapping his hand around her wrist and pulling her towards him.

He catches the surprise in her eyes before he presses his lips to hers.

She gasps, unknowing, and locks her arms around his neck. He kisses her roughly, passionately, his mouth breathing her in before he eventually slows his pace. And then there's nothing but soft kisses, gentle ones.

Bellamy pulls away and presses his lips to her ear. "Have fun with him tonight."

He feels her shutter, and then he leaves the bathroom, not waiting for her response or reaction. He enters the bar and tells Lincoln that he has to get home, ignoring Octavia's pointed stare, trying not to notice Miller's disappointed expression.

It doesn't take as long as he expects, but only a few hours later, she knocks on his front door.

"Hi," she says, standing in front of him.

Bellamy gazes at her. "Hi."

Clarke bites on her bottom lip. He thinks of all the nights she came to his apartment, bold and confident in her approach. She leans against the doorframe, looking at him through hooded eyes.

"We're going to crash and burn, again," she tells him. "You know that, right?"

He steps towards her. "No."

And then he kisses her, all feelings and genuine hope. Her lips outline his, and he smiles when she crosses the threshold, cupping her face securely between his hands.

They're slow and gentle that night, their movements soft despite the fire of their nature. He mesmerizes her body, her sounds, kissing her when she whispers his name in the darkness of his room.

There's something about Clarke Griffin, he's realized that, finally accepts it.

And they do crash and burn, but in the way that makes him love her more fiercely, in the way that makes him never want to let her go. In the way that makes him kiss her when she comes home, comfort her at her father's funeral, hug her when she graduates university.

In the way that makes him finally get down on one knee.

It's a good balance they have, the balance between fire and ice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I need your help. My writer's block is completely solid with the new chapter of Nowhere Found. And, honestly, I need a little bit of a reminder of why I should continue it.
> 
> So. Please. Help me out. My head is stuck :(


	5. Nowhere Found Chapter 12 Preview

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I finally pushed myself to start writing chapter 6 of Nowhere Found Part 2! Thank you so much to those who have kept encouraging me and inspiring me to write, and I'm so sorry for the continued writer's block.
> 
> Just wanted to thank all of you with a small preview for the next chapter. Enjoy, xo.

_Love is weakness._

That's what Clarke muttered to him in the night, weary and oblivious in her slumber.

"Bellamy," she whispered, clinging to the mattress. " _Weakness_."

He's never heard her speak those words before, her lips mumbling through her tormented expression. She balled her hands into fists, her eyes dried with tears, cursing love and the heartbreak it carries.

It hurt. Seeing her like that. And so he held her in his arms, led her to the bed, and he would give anything, do anything to look at her and see those eyes from before, the ones filled with passion.

Now, her eyes are plagued with darkness.

A darkness that came from loving him. A darkness that came from the death and the suffering and the loss.

He remembers. He felt that too.

"How is she?"

Bellamy glances above him. His hands are clenched into fists as he sits amongst a rock, facing away from the chaos of the motel. Octavia stands in front of him, her arms crossing her chest.

He thinks about Clarke, about the darkness.

"She's fine," he tells her.

Octavia bites on her bottom lip. "You don't have to lie to me, Bell."

Bellamy sighs, digging his nails into his palms.

"What do you want me to say, O?"

Octavia breathes deeply. His sister knows him, knows Clarke, has spent almost a year fighting alongside them. She's heard their screams before, seen them cry and curse. She knows the routine.

She sits beside him on the rock, the sun beginning to outline the trees above them.

"I keep thinking about it, what she went through," she says. "What she saw. All I know is that, if anyone can get through this, it's Clarke."

Bellamy drops his head. "How?"

"She's tough. Like her parents." She reaches forward and touches his hair. "And she has you."

He closes his eyes. He see's Clarke, the woman he kissed before she lost herself, the taste of her lips on his before she was captured. He see's the exhaustion in her expression whenever she looks at him, the grief and confusion.

"Yeah."

She tucks a curl behind his ear. "She loves you, Bell."

"I think that's the problem," he says.

Octavia tilts her head. "Why?"

Bellamy exhales. He remembers the days spent with her in the Ark, when they barely knew each other, when their only similarity was their hatred towards Jaha. He remembers the fire in her eyes, the heat and iciness in her blue depths.

He misses those colours. He misses _her_.

"Because I love her, too." He swallows thickly and when he opens his eyes he only sees black and white. "And sometimes love can make us do horrible things."

 _Love is weakness_. He gets it. Love hurts.

Octavia looks at him. Her gaze registers his response, her pupils calculating the sense of his words. She nods curtly and rests her hand on his shoulder, the sun beginning to appear above them.

"We've all done horrible things. That doesn't make us good people, I know that," she claims, leaning into him. "But a life without love?" She shakes her head. "That's the worst punishment I could ever have."

Bellamy swallows thickly, because love is painful, and it is selfish, but it's worth it.

_"The only thing that's fucking worth it is you"._

And Clarke will always be worth it. She'll be worth every death, every tormenting experience he's ever encountered and will have to encounter. She'll never burden him, not with her tears or her nightmares, not with the blood on her hands and the blood on his.

He thought she was dead. He lived days thinking he'd never see her again.

That was when he was weak. Because of the loss and the torture. Loving her is what made him strong.

"I need her, O."

Octavia breathes deeply. Even the air feels thick around them. She presses into him and wraps her arms around him, embracing him in the similar way of their childhood, when he would comfort her when they were younger.

She lines her lips onto his shoulder. "I know."

And she continues to hold him for a while, even when the wolves begin to howl throughout the woods, awakening the reminder of chaos around them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys liked it, this chapter is going to display a major turn of events so be prepared! Nowhere Found Part 2 is almost coming to an end! 
> 
> Full chapter should (hopefully) be up within the week. Thanks so much to all who keep reading.
> 
> Happy Bellarking! Xo.


	6. Friends (With Benefits) Chapter Preview

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay guys! Sorry to disappoint that this isn't a full chapter, but I decided to post a little preview of the next update just to let you know I'm still writing and haven't forgotten about this story! Again, so sorry for the extended delay. School is just finishing up, which means more homework, which means more stress, which means less time to work on this story. Hopefully the wait wasn't too long (I know that cliffhanger was a bitch, haha)
> 
> But anyways - enjoy the sneak preview! Much love as always for the comments! You guys have no idea how much it means to me, and how much you enjoying it means to me. Xoxo.

i.

"Octavia. _Octavia_!"

Clarke reaches for her wrist, stumbling onto the wood as they step off the stairs. She curses, curling her fingers around Octavia's arm and pulling her from the direction of Bellamy's room.

"Calm down!" Clarke hisses, because _fuck_ \- they're screwed, they're totally screwed. "You're acting like a crazy person!"

"You're boning my brother and _I'm_ the crazy one?"

Clarke scoffs, and Octavia shoves her, peeling her hands from her skin. _Fucking ninja_. She runs towards the bedroom door, the bedroom door Clarke was just pressed against only hours earlier, and she twists her hand on the knob, pushing it open.

Clarke curses and runs after her, arriving just in time to see Octavia pull the covers from Bellamy's bed.

He grumbles, his eyes fluttering open as she rips the remaining sheet from his body. Clarke notices the irritation in his glare as Octavia reaches for him, and she shakes her head, watching as she drags him from the mattress by his ear.

Bellamy scowls. "The fuck, O?"

"Clarke?" she barks, clutching his face between her hands. "Are you serious?"

Bellamy's eyes widen. He glances at Clarke.

Clarke raises her hands. "Oops."

"You guys are fucking insane," Octavia mutters. "My best friend and my brother are secret fucking lovers."

Bellamy winces. "Not lovers."

"Yeah," Clarke agrees, nodding. "Don't be dramatic, we're just fuck buddies."

Octavia groans, dropping her forehead against her palm, and Bellamy presses his lips together.

"How long has this been going on?" she demands, and she steps away from them, pulling at her hair. "Days? Months? Have you done it anywhere near my bed? Because if you have, I'll fucking ring you up by your panties, Griffin."

Bellamy raises an eyebrow. "Yikes."

"Yeah, _yikes_. So spill. What the fuck is going on?"

Clarke crosses her arms over her chest. "I'm not saying anything until you calm your crazy ass down."

"Calm _my_ crazy ass down? Are you - "

There's a light knock on the bedroom door, and Octavia huffs as she turns away from them, placing her hands on her hips. It pushes open, and Lincoln enters, his chest exposed with a tin white t-shirt and his eyes wide with concern.

Clarke glances at Octavia, watching the tightening of her jaw.

"Is everything okay? I heard yelling." He looks at Octavia and raises an eyebrow. "O? What are you still doing here? I thought you were just leaving - "

Octavia shakes her head, her eyes wide as she waves her hands. Lincoln narrows his gaze, and then he glances at Bellamy, muttering as he watches the tightening of his mouth, the intensity of his set shoulders.

Bellamy stares at them, his eyes burning in that familiar way Clarke knows too well. And so does Octavia, because she curses as his glare hardens.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

Clarke closes her eyes, tilting her head to the ceiling. "Dear God."

He steps towards them. "Octavia," he hisses, and she crowds closer against Lincoln. "What. Is he. Talking about?"

Octavia grimaces. She glances at Clarke, who shakes her head and looks at Bellamy, who literally won't stop fucking sending daggers towards Lincoln, who is just standing there like he just got a kick to his groin and - shit, this isn't going to end well.

She watches as Bellamy clenches his hands into fists, and yeah, this really isn't going to end well.

"Uhm." Octavia looks between them, and Bellamy tilts his head. "After party?"

Bellamy swears, grumbling under his breath. Clarke shakes her head.

"You slept with my little sister?" he accuses, and she steps in front of him, pressing a hand against his chest.

Lincoln raises his hands. "Listen, man - "

"My _sister_ ," he hisses, and Lincoln looks like he's about to piss his God damn pants with the fear in his eyes. "You've got to be fucking kidding - "

There's a thud against the bedroom door, and Raven enters the room, her hair untamed and falling from her ponytail. Wick follows in behind her, wiping the sleep from his eyes as he ruffles a shirt over his head.

"I don't know who the fuck is yelling this early in the morning but - " she pauses as she observes the room, her eyes glancing from Clarke pushing Bellamy back to the rang of Octavia's wide eyes. She crosses her arms over her chest. "What the hell is going on here?"

Clarke swallows thickly, glancing at them. None of them move, not even making a sound.

Raven sighs deeply and closes the door behind her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay guys! That's the first scene - hope you enjoyed it! Again, sorry for the delay. But school is almost done and I'm hoping to have this chapter up by the end of next week. Also, if you guys have any questions about this story and what to look forward to, don't be shy to tweet me your questions!!! My account is @Bellarke95 , and I'll answer them as soon as possible :)
> 
> Have a great day, xoxo


	7. Paint You In (Screaming Colours)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay guys. Some of you may know about what I've recently been going through, and why I've decided to pause on Friends (With Benefits) to focus on my upcoming long oneshot. More details to come, but here's the first scene. The full story should be posted during the summer, and will be much longer (and sadder) but just wanted to keep you all in the loop.
> 
> Sorry for disappointing anyone eager to continue with Friends (With Benefits). But writing this story is great therapy for me as I can relate to it very similarly during this time. Hope you enjoy the preview. Follow me Bellarke95 for more details.

The first thing she noticed was the smell.

The smell and the decaying sign that hung from the roof of the train station. Both were rotten, combined with weeded grass and cracking wood, and she pushed her sunglasses onto the top of her head to pinch the bridge of her nose.

It was May, and the humidity was strong, making the scent strong, too.

She turned up the volume on her iPod and glanced at the sign above her.

_"Welcome to Arkadia. Home of America's Great Waterfalls."_

Clarke scoffed. There's nothing great about waterfalls.

Nothing great about this town.

Her mother told her she was acting childish before she left, and judgemental; but Clarke probably knew more about this town than the people who resided in it. Knew of the population of 672 people, that the nearest hospital is in the town over, and the closest Starbucks is in the three towns after that.

And that there's only two waterfalls, both of which are not great, yet still baited for tourists.

Though the tourists never come and the residents never leave.

Arkadia was the home of _nothing_.

She sighed. Her head hurt from the train ride and her back ached from the long hours spent against the hard cushions. She glanced at her iPod. 5:52 pm. Her father was supposed to pick her up half an hour ago.

That's the reason she's here. Her father. He walked out of her life five years earlier when Clarke was fourteen, and they haven't spoken since then; but now he's got cancer, and he's dying and shit, and apparently he doesn't want to die alone.

So he decided to bring Clarke down with him.

And also decided to be late, taking another twenty minutes before he pulled up against the curb.

She didn't recognize him at first. He's thinner, more pale - looked sick with sullen eyes and transparent skin. He pushed the driver's seat open and stepped out of the car, removing his large sunglasses to reveal his crinkled smile.

"Clarke," he said, and he sounded awed. "It's good to see you."

She stood from the side of the curb. "You're late."

"I know. I'm sorry, I fell asleep."

She nodded. He grinned.

"You had a long ride, yeah?" he asked. He walked towards her and lifted both of her suitcases from the concrete. "You're probably hungry. As a kid you were always hungry. So I was thinking, there's this great steak place - "

"I'm a vegetarian," she told him.

"They have really good salads, too."

He brought her to a local diner called _Grilled City_ , and they sat across the window that had the view of the water. It wasn't an ocean, but it was nice, and he ordered a steak, and ordered her a salad, too.

The waitress placed the salad on their table. It was choppy, with black olives and shredded Kraft cheese.

Jake winked at her. "It's the best salad in the damn town."

She nodded, and took a bite of the green leafs. It tasted like expired almond milk.

Her father smiled at her expression. "It gets better the second time," he told her. He ran a hand nervously through his thin hair; she wondered why he even still had any. "How you've been, Clarke?"

She shrugged. "Neck hurts from the ride over, but I'm fine."

"And your mom?" he asked.

"Good. Still with Marcus."

Her father knew Marcus. He was the CEO of the company he worked for when he lived in Boston, and was also the new husband to her mother. He was nice, and patient, and she knew he made her mom happy.

Jake used to make her mom happy, too. Used to make all of them happy.

"That's good," he muttered. "I like him."

Clarke looked at him. "You don't have to lie."

He shook his head. "I'm not," he said. "He's good to her, and more importantly he's good to you."

"How do you know he's good to me?"

"Well, he's never given me a reason to think otherwise."

"Even if he did," Clarke said, and she stabbed at a piece of lettuce. "You wouldn't know about it."

Her father pressed his lips together, distressed, and the waitress returned to their table.

"Any more water, Jake?" she asked him.

He glanced at her and nodded, sobering his expression. "Yeah. Thanks, Nancy." She smiled, tucking her red hair behind her ear as she poured more water into his cup. She turned to Clarke. "How about you, sweetie? You need anything else?"

"Diet Coke, please," Clarke told her.

The waitress laughed. "Oh honey, that ain't an option," she said, and Clarke blinked up at her. "If you want anything other than a watered down Pepsi you best haul your ass to the next town over. Heard they've got a 24 hour McDonalds."

They finished dinner half an hour later. Clarke didn't finish her salad, and declined the chance to take the remainders home with her; but her father finished his steak, and then ordered another one for home, and they were silent when he walked her to his car, even more silent when he drove them to his house.

He took an exit onto a dirt road, and pulled into a driveway, putting the car in park. Clarke stared at the house through the window.

It was huge. Settled on the edge of the beach with a wide porch that reminded her of Boston. It had more windows than the colours on the wall, and there was porch swing; a small book case beside it. It was nice.

Jake looked at her. "Ready to see the inside?"

He carried her suitcases to the door as she entered the house, and her eyes glazed over the shades that covered the wallpaper, the pieces of art that hung in the living room. There was so much room, so many things, and she thought of how her father spent the last five years here, eating and sleeping alone in a house this big.

She glanced at him, and he led her up the stairs, turning a corner to show her the bedroom.

"I wasn't able to paint it in time - I know you like blue, but," she looked around the room, touching her palm along the dull orange shading of the wall, "I hope this still works."

She nodded. "It'll work."

"You even have a nice window. You know, if you want to paint the beach or something."

"I don't paint anymore."

He stared at her. "You love painting."

"I did," she said, and he rubbed his hand against his jaw. "But it's just no longer a passion of mine."

"Huh. You're kidding."

She shook her head. "I'm not."

Jake pressed his lips together, looking at her. She crossed her arms over her chest.

"Okay, well," he walked towards the door and placed a hand against the wood. "You're probably jet-lagged, tired. Uhm - washroom's down the hall. If you need anything, don't hesitate to ask. Make yourself at home."

"Okay."

He nodded. "Okay." He hesitated, the corner of his lips turned at the edges. "I'll see you in the morning."

And then he smiled, forced onto his mouth as he left the room, echoing that moment from so many years ago. The purple of his veins are a different shade than she remembered, and she collapsed onto the bed, shielding her eyes from the remaining sunlight cascaded over the beach.

Arkadia. Home of nothing.

Now home to her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Share what you think below, xoxo.


	8. Snippet #2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh...hey...it's been a while...
> 
> So, I would totally understand if ya'll hated me, but I'm working on something better I promise. In fact, my promise is so real, that I even released this sneak peek for you guys. This is the first scene in a long one-shot that follows Bellamy and Clarke throughout two decades of New Years Eve.
> 
> This story is gonna floor all of you. This is the first scene, full story to come in the next month. Thank you.

_Say You Won't Let Go_

_i met you in the dark, you lit me up_

_you made me feel as though i was enough_

_i. new years eve 1995_

The Blakes move to Westwood on a Tuesday, their belongings packed in a mini van.

It's raining when they pull into the driveway, a dusky, trembling sky that announces their arrival. Clarke beams, kneeling in front of her living room window. She's _excited_ ; has been excited to meet her new neighbours since Mrs. Wilson got transferred to a hospital in Seattle.

It's not that she didn't like Mrs. Wilson, or her two cats that always seemed to eat her mother's garden, but Clarke was the only kid on the street, and she was desperate for new friends.

"Daddy!" Clarke yells. She cuffs her hands against the glass. "Daddy, they're here! Come down!"

The van doors open, and two children rush out of the vehicle, shielding their hair from the rain.

Clarke smiles. _Kids_.

Jake walks into the living room. "Look at that, Stardust," he says, and he places his hands on her shoulders. They're shaking too much in excitement for him to hold. "You've got some new friends to play with."

The youngest one, who Clarke will learn is only five, walks tiredly towards her new home, dark bangs pasted to her forehead. She carries a cardboard box in one hand and a stuffed animal in the other, an older boy holding onto her as they walk up the porch steps.

Based on the dark complexion and darker hair, she thinks it's her brother. They look young, her age, and it's _perfect_.

Clarke looks at her father. "Should I go over and say hi?"

He chuckles. "Let them settle in, yeah?"

"Okay. How about after dinner?"

"Clarke."

"Tomorrow?"

"Yeah," he nods, "tomorrow."

She doesn't sleep that night. Her mind wraps in ideas on what to say and what games they should play. She decides on tag, since it's easy, and in the morning she grabs her whistle and a pen and walks over to the house next door.

The young boy answers. He has a valley of freckles that run along his cheeks. She wonders if he would let her draw them someday.

"Hi." Clarke reaches her hand forward. "I'm Clarke Rosalie Griffin, your next-door neighbour."

"Bellamy," he says. He doesn't shake her hand.

"That's a cool name."

"Thanks."

"Is it Greek?"

He shrugs. "I don't know."

"My mom tells me a lot of things come from Greek mythology, and so does my dad. He's a giant nerd." She bites on her bottom lip, looking at the empty house behind him. "You have a sister, right?"

Octavia Blake is smaller up close, her hair even darker in the shadows of their house. She stands awkwardly beside her brother after he calls her to the door, and she's just as quiet, just as shy.

Clarke smiles, and asks them to play with her in her backyard. They tell her they have to finish unpacking.

"Maybe they're just scared," her mother tells her later. She places the dish towel beside the kitchen sink. "They came from across the state. It's a new city for them." Clarke sighs, and her mother tilts her chin. "Hey, give them time. They'll come around."

But they don't, and it isn't until the following month that Clarke realizes why.

Her mother usually works late on New Years Eve, and so her and her father spend the remaining hours of the year watching the Dick Clark special with buttered popcorn and chocolate bars. It's a tradition with her father, since being a surgeon isn't exactly a 9-5 job, and Clarke is almost done her third bowl when she notices a glare from the window.

It's strong, and bright, and she leans forward on the couch. The glare is coming from the Blake house across the street.

She narrows her eyes. "Daddy."

"What is it, Stardust?"

"The Blake house," she says. "The lights are still on."

"That's okay. Maybe they're spending New Years Eve like us."

Clarke presses her lips together and looks back to the window. She doesn't see shadows, or the outline of a TV, or -

"There's no cars in the driveway."

Her father stares at her. "What?" he asks, and she points to the driveway. No cars. Not Mr. Blakes, or Mrs. Blakes. Her father curses - she never hears him swears but he does, and he gets up from the recliner and grabs her hand.

They walk to the house next door in their PJs. Octavia answers it after the third knock.

Jake smiles. "Hi. Octavia, is it?"

Octavia looks at Clarke. She nods. "Yeah."

"Nice to meet you, Octavia. My name is Jake, I'm Clarke's father." He looks inside the house, his expression strained. "Is your mother home at the moment, sweetie?"

Octavia shakes her head. "She's at work."

"And your dad?"

She shrugs. Jake swallows thickly.

"Okay." He sighs and kneels in front of her. "Why don't you get your brother - your brother is here, right?" Octavia nods at him. "Okay, good. Your mother just called me, and she wants you to get your brother and watch the ball drop at our place. That sound like fun?"

Octavia stares at him. She looks confused.

"We have the Dick Clark special," Clarke tells her. "And lots of soda."

Octavia presses on her bottom lip; looks up at them with those bright, brown eyes. "Do you have any food?"

Jake releases a breath. " _Yeah_ ," he tells her. "Yeah, we have lots of food. Come on."

Octavia nods, and that's how it happens. The beginning of her story with the Blake siblings. It's not as easy convincing Bellamy to come to the house, but he's better after, though still quiet and shy.

He eats the pasta that her father makes, and tells them things - that he's nine-years-old, into Greek mythology too, and that his mother asked the dad to watch them for the night while he was at work.

But their dad left three hours ago to get snacks, and he hasn't been back since.

Clarke is only seven, she doesn't know how to handle these things. But her father does, he's the _best_ at it really - because he doesn't say anything. doesn't pry or dig. He only asks Bellamy about his favourite Greek God, and for a brief moment, Bellamy smiles.

A few days later, Clarke invites them over again. This time, they say yes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaaaand that's the preview! there will be about 18 more of these in the full story - each telling a different story during a different New Years Eve, though it's still the same plot and characters and setting. Anyways, hope you liked it and enjoy reading the rest! Will be up within the next two weeks.
> 
> PS. I missed you guys. Xo.


	9. Say You Won't Let Go Snippet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my God. GUYS! Your feedback has been amazing for Say You Won't Let Go, and I'm so excited to share the final chapter with you. It's been so amazing seeing all of your reviews after a long hiatus, and I really appreciate the welcome back.
> 
> This is only a few paragraphs of the first scene since I don't want to spoil too much though I also want to get you excited.
> 
> The second part will be released this Thursday night on March 16th, though I will be trying to get it out by Wednesday so keep an eye out. Anyways, enjoy the (very short) sneak peek from the second part of Say You Won't Let Go!

_Part Two_

_i wanna live with you, even when we're ghosts_

_xi. new year's eve 2007_

He leaves in the morning, telling her they'll talk about it.

Things had changed, he said, and he wanted time to think.

He presses a kiss to her cheek, his lips lingering, and she knows that his hesitance isn't brought on by his feelings towards her, but because he's always been a cautious man. He was a man with calculations, and strategies - one who acts when he's made all of the possible outcomes in his head.

He wants this, she feels that he wants it, but only if she does, too.

And she did. But maybe she needed time to think, too.

He lived in Boston, and she was in high school, repeating senior year and yet still unaware of what she wanted to do or who she wanted to be.

Her father tried to help her, told her to go to art school, but her mother said it was a silly dream with no stable income.

"Who cares about money," her father says on the last night of January. It was a Wednesday, and they were watching the stars on the back porch. "The world needs less money, and even fewer people who think it can make them happy."

"It can, though," she says. "Can't it?"

"You tell me. What's the most important thing to you?"

"Family." She thinks of Bellamy. "Friends."

"There's your answer. As long as you have those things, you don't need anything else."

"But I do. How the hell do I pay for a house? For a car?"

He shakes his head. "Haven't I ever told you to take a risk, Stardust?"

"More than once."

"Okay." He nods and looks at the sky. "Then stop worrying and take a risk."

She does, and applies to UCLA for their fall 2007 semester. Her mother doesn't say anything, but her father tells her he's proud.

"See what happens when you follow your heart?"

She rolls her eyes. "Yeah," she says, and she presses her lips together. Her heart aches with another question. "Hey, Dad?"

He turns to her. Her chest feels fuzzy.

"Say that you wanted to follow your heart for something else, like a guy or whatever. But it would mean risking your friendship. Would that be okay, too?"

He smiles; the one that eases her.

"Yeah. I think that would be okay."

Three days later, he's killed on a cold night in February.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so short, I know! But I don't want to reveal too much haha. Anyways, the full story will be published either this Wednesday or Thursday night, so keep checking on those days! Until then, have a wonderful week!
> 
> Xoxo.

**Author's Note:**

> Prompts and requests are welcome!! :) xoxo.  
> P.S. do you guys want more dirty Bellarke? Comment or message me with one shot or drabble requests and I'll post them! Xo.


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